


Issues

by glittercake



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), These boys are broken, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27743092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glittercake/pseuds/glittercake
Summary: He's angry because people aren't meant to go without touch and affection; they were never meant to hurt like this. He was never supposed to forget what another person's touch feels like.ORSam realizes after years of coping and being strong, that he is in fact an entire mess. Bucky is there in two seconds flat to comfort him.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 58
Kudos: 306
Collections: Sam Wilson Bingo 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a mini series for tumblr but I decided to post it here instead. Part 2 and 3 will follow shortly.
> 
> For Sam Wilson bingo, square G1, touch starved.

It never occurs to Sam. Not even once, that he might be wholly deprived of human contact. 

The horrible realization dawns on him when he is, of course, entirely alone one rainy Saturday morning. The article says, "Can't sleep without cuddling a pillow? Here's why." 

And then Sam starts thinking when the last time was that he'd been held. Like really held, when last he felt someone's arms around him and their fingers digging in as they squeeze him tight. The smell of another person lingering on his skin hours after they've gone.

The shock is so sudden and hollowing that it brings him to tears. 

He forces his mind to come up with an answer. Thinking back to when he last saw his ma and Sarah. The answer isn't so long ago, his mother hugged him, and Sarah flung an arm around him at one point during the barbeque. He doesn't recall feeling this incredible loss then.

And he thinks about it now: holding his pillow at night, the way he can't fall asleep without it cradled to his chest. The way he looks for it even while in the deepest sleep and finds it no matter what, waking up with it between his arms.

The same way he would find a warm body that shared his bed before everything got so broken.

A sob escapes him then, and he claps his hand over his mouth to silence it. But it doesn't stop the tears from absolutely tearing him apart; Sam has to face the truth that he is unmistakably lonely. 

He has to admit now, in the shame of his breakdown, in the silence all around him, that he has been avoiding this very confrontation with himself. 

He has to admit that the last person who held him—like really truly held him, well past midnight and long past the sun had come up—was Riley.

And he has to admit that he misses it more than he's ever found the words to describe. That the missing intimacy had left a gaping hole inside him. 

He told himself:  _ there are people worse off than you. Everyone's lost someone and they all learn to live with it. You're not the only lonely one; Barnes was alone for 70 years. Suck it up.  _

And then the end of the world happened, and there was no time for holding and loving anyway. There were wars to fight and people to save, and being loved wasn't really first on anyone's mind. So it got packed away and packed away and packed away. 

Until it's far too late to unpack, and it all just bursts at the seams the way it does now. 

He can't stop the sobs anymore, the anger bubbling up inside. Anger at himself, at Riley, at the world for doing this to them. He sobs at the blatant, raw, and undeniable loneliness he feels right now. This was never the way it was meant to be. 

He's angry because people aren't meant to go without touch and affection; they were never meant to hurt like this. He was never supposed to forget what another person's touch feels like.

He hates that he needs to feel this, and more than that, he hates the loneliness he's been carrying for so long, how he's accepted that as the status quo. Because no… it shouldn't be.

His fingers shake when he reaches for his phone and dials the one number he knows will never go to voicemail. 

It rings a few times, and then Barnes' crackling voice picks up. His mouth is full of something, chewing, and Sam hears papers crinkling in the background. He pictures Barnes on the couch, too, watching the news or sports or some lame channel like he is doing himself. 

"I'm right down the hall, you know," Barnes says, licking his fingers clean. Sam wants to rib him for eating junk so early in the day, but he can't get his words to do anything but clot in his throat. 

And that just makes him angry, too, makes him burst with tears again. He tries helplessly to be as quiet as he can, tries not to weep into the phone for Barnes to hear.

"Sam?" The background noise goes silent, and after another beat, "Samkins?" Barnes says because he knows Sam fucking hates that name and it's bound to get a rise out of him. All it does is draw more tears from Sam's raw eyes.

There's one abrupt noise from Barnes' end and then urgent footfalls thudding down the carpeted hallway of the Tower toward Sam's apartment. FRIDAY opens for Barnes, as she's been programmed to do, and he careens into the living area, still in a worn-out sleep shirt and old sweats, and heads straight for Sam.

"Sam? Hey—" He slides down on the couch, and not even a beat of hesitation passes over him before he gathers Sam up in his arms and positions them so Sam's winged under his arm and pressed to his chest. And he says, "Hey, I got you. What's wrong?" 

But the sudden bout of touch and closeness has rendered Sam helpless, and all he's able to focus on is just the feel of Barnes' solid arms around him, the way he can feel skin and muscle and warmth, Barnes' scent enveloping him. He just cries, hiding his face away in Barnes' t-shirt.

"Okay," he says quietly, strokes down from the crown of Sam's head to the base of his neck, and it makes him shudder apart inside. Barnes must see the rush of goosebumps the touch brings on; he stills for a moment then breathes in deep, realizing, then says, "Alright. You're okay, sweetheart. I'm here." 

Sam experiences a dizzying blush at the endearing name. It's new, kind of out of left field, but good. So goddamn good he doesn't know how to process it correctly.

So all he does is move, bringing his arm around Barnes' middle and letting his fingers sink into the soft flesh above his waistband. It makes him gasp and whimper all at once, the feel of someone like this, being able to touch and being touched at the same time. 

He has forgotten all of this. He wonders how he ever could when it feels this good, this content. Soon the sobs subside, and his body submits to the peacefulness of the moment, and he starts drifting off against Barnes' chest. 

Barnes makes no effort to move; Sam wonders if it's the same for him. How did he do it, how  _ does  _ he do it? But he can't bring himself to ask while he's selfishly soaking up the comfort before it's gone. 

To his surprise, though, Barnes doesn't leave. He sits there with Sam in his arms, one metal, one flesh, and holds him. They only shift every hour or so, and they never say a word about it. Not when Sam cries into Barnes' shirt again, not when he gets up to use the restroom and comes right back to an open embrace. 

Not even when night falls and FRIDAY offers to send dinner up for them.

And when Barnes finally leaves just before midnight, it's with a sticky reluctance and a pensive, lingering look. 

"Night," Barnes says, looking sleepy and a little coy with his hands stuffed in his pockets like that.

"Night, man." Sam musters up a smile then says, "Hey, thanks for, you know. You didn't have to—"

"Any time," Barnes says far too quickly and looks down, Then looking at Sam again, blushing now and much quieter, he adds, "I mean it. Any time." 

"Yeah. I'll uh... Thanks." and he finds himself with an odd grin on his tired face and an uncomfortable heat making its way up his neck. "Don't be a stranger!" he calls after Barnes as he shuffles down the hallway back to his apartment.

Barnes waves over his shoulder, "Alright, Samkins." 

And somehow, that has just gotten a hell of a lot more endearing.


	2. Chapter 2

Barnes comes over just about every day after Sam's first meltdown. 

It's all without explanation, without prompt or question. He simply shows up at the door, and they spend the day on the couch. 

He holds Sam as if it's the most natural thing, as if it's nothing. But really, it's everything. 

The raw grief Sam experienced that first time, the gnawing loneliness, slowly subsides. He starts to remember what intimacy means, and he goes to sleep each night with a deep bliss down in the very meat of him. The pillow hasn't quite stopped finding its way into his arms during the night, but the thought of it doesn't strike him with such terrible sadness any longer. 

Though he has to admit—when he's curled up against Barnes' side or dozing with his head in Barnes' lap—he wishes he doesn't have to go to bed alone. Every night he sees Barnes out, there's a nagging little tug right at the bottom of his heart.

"God, I'm so lazy right now," Sam yawns, stretching out, prompting Barnes to flex his legs a little too. 

Barnes glances at him sideways, "You want something?" 

"I just said I'm lazy. I'm not getting up to do  _ shit."  _

"You don't have to…"

He sees a faint pink tint on Barnes' cheeks and frowns, "No man. I'm good." Which is a lie; he's starving; he just doesn't want Barnes to leave right now and lose the ridiculous warmth of his body pressed to Sam's side. So he looks up and smiles, "Well…"

Barnes ducks his head, grinning, "What? I don't mind. I'll uh, I'll get it for you." 

"You're not hungry?" 

"You wanna eat? I can get food." 

"Do you?" 

"I can eat, yeah." 

They look at each other for a couple of seconds, not moving. Sam guesses they're both trying to figure out what this is, what they're doing. Sam wonders if Barnes feels it too. Whatever it is. 

"I mean, I don't want you to—"  _ Go… I don't want you to go.  _ Sam catches himself quickly, stops talking before he sounds too needy, too clingy. It's not like Barnes owes him this. But his face must betray him; he's sure something slips anyway.

Because just as fast as Sam stopped talking, Barnes says, "Sit on the counter with me? I'll make something." nodding his head to the kitchen. His eyes gleam a sharp, hopeful blue when he looks at Sam again.

And because the moment's way too tense and Barnes is way too close, cataloging Sam's face with wandering eyes and his lip bitten between his teeth, Sam jokes instead of being this vulnerable. 

"Do I wanna risk it?" 

Barnes snorts quietly, and with a playful shove he pushes Sam's legs off of his lap. He gets to his feet and holds his hand out for Sam. A gesture so ordinary, yet it makes that weird heat coil in Sam's chest again, creeping up his neck. 

He lets Barnes guide him to the kitchen, switching a low light on and turning up the dials on the stove. He doesn't let go of Sam's hand. Their fingers stay tangled tight together. If he's honest, he doesn't want to let go, screw the food. 

But Barnes slowly slides them apart as he reaches for a pan, and Sam gets onto the countertop. 

He makes scrambled eggs with sundried tomatoes and mozzarella, sprinkles in oregano and pepper and a few dashes of sea salt, and when it's frying and bubbling, he scoops up a small heap and holds it out for Sam to taste. 

It's divine. Sam barely stops himself from moaning, thinks he'd make it pretty awkward if he did. He just closes his eyes and probably looks kind of surprised about how good it tastes. 

"I watch cooking shows, too, Sam," Barnes mumbles with a coy grin, stirring the pan again. 

Sam looks at him then, he looks at this whole situation. And he thinks about how long it's been since he's felt anything even remotely as domestic. He used to sit around campfires with Riley. They used to roast marshmallows and squash them between two cookies. Riley used to cook for him, too; he made the most delicious grilled cheese. He had such a hand with flavors and colors and things that go together.

The memories sting, makes him fold his arms against his chest to keep them right there, trying to remember what it felt like to be so light, so carefree. He thought he was done with the onslaught of longing and loneliness, but it seems to creep up all over.

"You okay?" Barnes puts the spatula down and inches closer, and Sam realizes then that he's crying again. He hadn't registered the wetness on his cheeks at all. 

He nods. Tears bubble out and fall down his cheeks, "Yeah," he says. Because for the longest time, this has been okay. For the longest time, he's been broken, thinking if he's able to function, it ain't really broke.

"Yeah, I know." Barnes lowers the heat on the plate and wedges himself in between Sam's legs. He wraps his arms around Sam's middle and holds tight. It's a solid kind of comfort, one that makes him exhale and close his eyes and just soak it up before it's gone again.

"It's alright," Barnes whispers in his ear.

Sam smells his shampoo up close like this. He leans his head down and puts his arms around Barnes' shoulder. It's when he reaches up and runs his fingers through Barnes' hair that he sees the familiar flush of goosebumps all over his arms, raising up on the back of his neck.

So he's not just here for Sam. He's not doing it just for Sam. 

He is lonely too. 

Sam wraps his legs around Barnes' middle, cradling his head. They're flush now, closer than he thinks they've ever been before. And soon, Barnes' fingers curl into Sam's shirt, making a tight fist like he's holding on for dear life.

Sam knows without a doubt what it feels like, he knows the exact emotion that is rising up in Barnes' chest this very moment.

And against his own chest, Sam feels Barnes break with a quiet sob.

"Yeah, come on," Sam says wetly, throat tight, "It's alright." 


	3. Chapter 3

The next night Barnes comes around is the night Sam finds it hardest to let him leave. 

The evening is comfortable enough, pleasant enough like every other night, the usual peaceful closeness and unmoving laziness they always share. 

He spent the last couple of hours just existing in the space between Barnes' arms, head resting against his chest so he could hear the steady thumping rhythm of his heart. 

But then, Barnes starts tapping out a similar rhythm against Sam's arm,  _ tap… tap… tap… _

Sam looks up at him and frowns, "You can hear? My heart?" he murmurs, careful not to disturb the quietness around them. 

Barnes blinks, and his fingers pause mid tap; he seems caught off guard for a swift moment, then says, "Yeah." and closes his eyes again. He continues playing out the beat on Sam's skin, and he has no idea what he's just done to Sam. 

Because something so sudden and urgent comes rushing over Sam, a nagging urge to draw Barnes closer and kiss him. But instead of doing anything foolish, he stays far too still and hopes Barnes doesn't pick up on what Sam's feeling.

He doesn't. 

The time comes for him to leave, well past midnight, even though they're not really tired. Not in the least. Almost as if their bodies are alive to each other now, tuned in, like something within them has tethered to the comfort here and leaving would be so detrimental they might never recover. 

Which is dramatic. But Sam feels goddamn dramatic when Barnes turns in the doorway to look at him. And that's just it, that look, like Sam standing beneath these awful yellow lights, is the single most spectacular thing he's ever seen. 

Every night it's the same thing. Barnes' eyes flick over Sam's face, and he gets this dumbstruck look where his lips part, and he forgets they're about to say goodnight. If Sam didn't know any better, he'd think the guy's trying to say something, but just like Sam, the words get stuck somewhere. 

He does it now, too; he stuffs his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. And it's not like the yellow lights don't do it for him as well, because holy shit, it does. 

Sam swallows, and he gets it. He wants to say it too, but they have no idea how to say "stay with me," The thought alone makes him feel too vulnerable, makes him feel needy. 

So instead, he reaches up, cups his hand around the back of Barnes' neck, and leans in just enough to kiss him. 

Something so tender it's as if it barely even happens at all, just a slow shift of their lips and their heads tilting opposite directions to accommodate. 

Barnes makes this wounded sound when he presses forward for more, something guttural and starving as he circles his arms around Sam's waist. His one palm flattens between Sam's shoulder blades, the other splayed out on his lower back. Despite the grounding, near-possessive touch, his mouth is soft and cautious, and he's walking Sam back inside where they belong and shutting the door and…

They stumble back, Sam hits the wall, and Barnes' hands come up to both sides of his neck to hold him in place for another kiss, deeper, longer, his tongue slipping between Sam's lips this time.

And Sam didn't quite expect to react like this. He didn't expect his body to break out in another one of those all-over, almost painful flushes of goosebumps. He didn't think Barnes touching him like this—warm hands sliding up under his shirt and digging into his skin—would make him start to tear up. 

He hadn't realized this kind of hungry touch, this desperate want, was the one he'd been missing most of all. 

The moment Barnes feels the teary wetness, he pulls back and jerks away from Sam in one near-violent motion.

Sam catches him by the wrist, pulls him close again, "No. No, don't stop. Don't go." he whispers. He's not quite able to meet Barnes' eyes. But he feels that warm body slot against his own again. "It's been a while, that's all." 

Barnes is silent for a beat, his nose nuzzling into Sam's clavicle, then he says, "For me too. Too long."

Their hearts, Sam can feel now, is drumming wildly beneath the thin fabric of their shirts. "Yeah? How long is long, huh?" 

He drops his head down on Sam's shoulder and laughs. A sound so completely rugged and out of place in this serenity they've created. It sets Sam off, too, for whatever reason and they laugh and snicker and kind of shove against each other. 

Barnes straightens up finally and looks at Sam, running his hand through his hair with a deep breath. His thumb comes up to wipe a wet streak from Sam's cheek then.  _ "Long.  _ A lifetime ago," he says. 

Sam doesn't know why he's shocked. Between all the winter soldiering and recovering, there probably wasn't much time for… this. Hell, between falconing and dying, he hasn't had time for anything serious himself. 

"I can work with that," he tells Barnes.

"Thank god, Samkins." Barnes grins devilish, teasing.

And before Sam gets to protest the name, Barnes kisses him again a little rougher and hungrier, licking into his mouth again, making sounds now too. Which surprises Sam, makes it so he can't keep his own mouth shut. 

Sam responds by nipping Barnes' bottom lip between his teeth, just making it absolutely clear what he wants. He lets his own hands ride up under Barnes' shirt too, pinching both his nipples just so. And god the way he shudders at Sam's touch, the helpless, pitiful noise he makes, the way his knees buckle and he becomes like jelly against Sam. 

Barnes leans down, melting basically, and puts both his hands on Sam's ass, and squeezes. So Sam knows they're on the same page.

But it's not like it's easy, making love, it's not wild and hot, and they're not gasping for air once they actually get down to it. Barnes is careful and slow, and they have to start over a couple of times because when he said it's been a lifetime, he meant it, and the first time Sam goes down on him, he finishes a few seconds in on Sam's tongue. 

But the magic is that he  _ can. _ He can go multiple, wonderous times, and it makes something twist sweet and deliciously in Sam's gut. 

And, when he finally slips fully into Sam and bottoms out, he's the one ducking his head to hide. Beneath him, Sam bites down on his fist and tries to keep the rawness of it all from consuming him whole, but he remembers the first time he and Riley did this. He remembers every breathless gasp, every word Riley whispered in his ear, and how it felt just as good as this.

When Barnes lifts his head, they're both teary and sniffling. Too open, too vulnerable, too close. 

Sam laughs first this time, a hilariously broken sound. Barnes joins him, eyes crinkling in the corners, blurry with tears and quickly presses their lips together, smiling at least. Because they just get it, they know what this feels like for one another. 

Barnes knows the overwhelming rush of skin against skin, he knows the value of their proximity.

And Sam, Sam knows the indescribable loneliness of loss. Be it a life or a lifetime. 

But for now, even as broken as they are, it doesn't matter all that much. 

All Sam feels right now is good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope y'all liked this! thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm here too: [glittercake](https://glittercake.tumblr.com/)


End file.
